The Year You Were Born, Does It Matter?

A story took place.  The year doesn't matter.  It's neither here nor there.  But the war was over, soldiers were still returning from overseas.  Donald never went overseas, he had a lazy eyes and flat feet.  A two-time loser.  Donald worked at the feed mill.  Ask him why and he'd say, "Your cow's gotta eat."  He drove a 1934 Chevrolet and wore a flat-brimmed cap.  Everybody wore hats then.  Hats were on top of everybody's minds.  They couldn't think through them.  Donald left work early, drove out to the river, and went fishing.  He caught a trout.  It was a big enough trout, but nothing to take a photograph of.  The year was 1947.  This is important. We said the year doesn't matter, but we were lying.  The year always matters.  The year you were born, does it matter?  Donald decided to stop in at the roadhouse for a few beers.  America had the atomic bomb, and Donald had a dollar to blow.  There was some Jap souvenirs up on the wall behind the bar.  Bartender said, "What you up to?"  Donald said, "Fishin'."  Bartender said, "Bitin'?"  It was afternoon in that roadhouse, and motes of dust were floating in the arches of light coming in through the windows.  Donald leaned his elbows on the bar and said, "I caught me a big one."  Bartender said, "How big's big?"  Donald said, "Big.  But nothing to take a photograph of." 

Comments

[Jeffers]

Another super winner! I think I'm gonna name this stuff you do Subatomic Fiction.

[Martijn]

Meta! (I can't find suitable words of praise any more... just know I read and love and enjoy, enjoy enjoy.)

[UF MIKE]

I like that. Subatomic fiction. And thanks you two. I love you both like brothers. Jeffers, you actually are my brother. Martijn, you are the brother I had but lost in a poker game.

[Martijn]

Mike... I can't even begin to tell you what you are to me. Let this silence be your